It was hard for Murray to believe he’d already been back at Hogwarts for over three weeks. All he wanted was for time to slow down just a little bit, but he knew there was no hope. It seemed the more he thought about the fact that he was in his seventh and final year, the quicker the minute hand moved. It was hard to believe that it was almost over. Murray had taken so many of his years at Hogwarts for granted, he now realized, with a promise to himself not to waste this year.

It was mid-Sunday afternoon, and it was pouring rain outside. Most of the Hufflepuff’s were sitting in the common room either catching up on homework or complaining that it was too wet to go outside. Murray had assignments that needed to be finished for the week but his schoolwork motivation levels were low. He could go to the library and try to convince an unsuspecting young Ravenclaw for help, which was his usual ploy. But even that sounded like more work than it was worth this rainy Sunday. And it didn’t help that when the common room was this crowded it was hard to focus on any one thing anyway, schoolwork or not. He stood up from his usual armchair by the fire deciding on a walk to the owlery. He asked a group of third years that were huddled together at a table if he could have a spare piece of parchment and a quill, promising the safe return of the quill. He was due to send an owl to his mother anyway.

His feet led him out of the portrait and into the vacant corridor. He was three-quarters of the way up the staircase to the ground floor before changing his mind. There wasn’t a whole lot he needed to say in a letter that wasn’t the usual: how are you, it’s raining, classes are boring, etc. He would sound like a broken record, and he didn’t appreciate receiving letters that had very little substance so there was no pointing sending anyone else the same thing.

Murray turned around, folding up the piece of parchment and stuffing it and the borrowed quill into an empty pocket. He decided instead that a bite to eat was exactly the boost he needed that Sunday afternoon. To be fair, he did have an early lunch and supper was still a few hours away. Immediately the promise of food cleared all thoughts of the letter from his mind. He retraced his steps back toward the Hufflepuff common room but instead of going all the way to the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of the oil painting of a bowl of fruit that he knew too well. A preview of that evening’s dessert sounded incredible to the badger.

Before he could lift his hand, Murray heard footsteps approaching from behind him, the same way he had just came. He whipped around with a grin already plastered on his face and spotted @Gene Horowitz, a Gryffindor in the same year as Murray.

“You hungry?” Murray called as Gene approached. He leaned towards the painting and tickled the pear.

He'd started seventh year optimistic. For himself, not for the state of the world or whatever, but optimistic nonetheless. And, of course, that went straight to the dogs within the month. First the boats, then his classes had finally finally finally kicked in and started being impossible. And he'd skipped class Monday and then lied to his teachers about it, and hadn't yet cracked and confessed to any of them. (Which was going to bite him in the rear eventually, but which he hadn't even intended to do in the first place, which was a point in his favour, but not much of one.)

Usually Gene kept his stories straight, but he hadn't bothered this time. It was one absence, and most of the teachers already knew he just missed class sometimes, and he'd only forgotten that Becker and Jaracas were brand new and therefore didn't, and doubted anyway that they'd bother to cross-reference his gut-instinct "Hospital Wing" story. And if they did-- it was his last year, he only had to deal with them for nine more months. Nobody would care, in the long run, right?

Other than his parents-- but Gene had been in a weird state that morning and written them lies, too. Said he was doing great (lie) and studying hard (lie) and letting his hands be (lie, lie, lie) and not lying (ha ha ha ha ha.) It was too late to take it back-- Boromir must be halfway to London now-- but he already wanted to, and was dreading the "Actually, I lied about all that" letter he'd have to send when his owl got back. (Though he suspected they'd already know, on account of the studying-hard bit.) All of this had put him in a bad mood and so, as was his wont, he was going to deal with it the easy way, by having lunch and then rereading whatever part of Lord of the Rings would depress him the fastest.

So no, he didn't particularly mean to or want to run into anybody he knew today, and had made it all the way to the basement before he ran out of luck. He hadn't been paying attention and Murray Cowan had already spotted him. "'Lo, Murray," he said. "You miss lunch, too?"

Murray Cowan was a loud sort, far more out-there and agreeable than Gene was, and today it made a welcome distraction. Gene caught up quickly to the other boy as the portrait swung open, and was caught frozen for a second as the smell inside overwhelmed him. Yes, he was hungry, very much so. He gestured for Murray to go in first, and remarked as he followed him inside, stepping around the house elves, "You know you've got a quill sticking out of your pocket? That's liable to break eventually. D'you know where they keep the spare sandwiches?"

“No I didn’t miss lunch,” Murray replied casually. “I guess I should have ate more, or taken some to go,” he laughed. The badger gave the house elves a friendly wave as he entered the kitchen alongside Gene.

“Good call about the quill, thanks for the reminder,” he said with an honest grin to Gene’s mention of the quill. Murray had already forgotten about it. He made a mental note to try to remember not to forget to give it back to the third year. He’d probably forget. Oh well he’d give them one of his quills if they asked.

But Murray actually laughed out loud when Gene asked about the sandwiches. “They’ve got better treats than sandwiches down here,” he said as he wandered further into the kitchen. The copies of the four house tables were already laid out with silverware and goblets, ready for that evenings supper.

“What’s for dessert tonight, friends?” Murray asked the crowd of house elves that were busy darting in multiple directions preparing for the upcoming meal.

“Rhubarb pie, Master Murray!” One of the smaller house elves squeaked as he whizzed by holding one of the pies in both of his hands. It looked delicious and smelled as though it had just come out of the oven. Murray followed the little elf over to the table where all of the pies were sitting to cool.

“They look fantastic!” he exclaimed to the closest group of elves that all slowed enough to bow in unison before returning to their duties.

“Care for a piece of pie, Gene? I’m sure they’d let us test one out.” Before the words were even fully out of his mouth one of the elves picked up the first pie that had been cooked and brought it over, setting it down on the end of the double Slytherin house table. Another house elf followed quickly behind with two dessert plates and two forks. “You’re the best, honestly,” Murray winked at the elves with a massive smile.

Gene always thought of himself as an easygoing person up until he spent any time with someone who was more easygoing than he was, and he always thought of himself as a fun person up until he spent any time with someone who was clearly getting more out of life. He didn't think it'd been that hilarious that he wanted a sandwich, though. He just wanted a sandwich. So he grinned with mild humiliation and said, "I kind of want a sandwich. I didn't eat lunch."

He was very open to persuasion, though. And rhubarb pie was undeniably more appealing than a cold sandwich-- but he resisted the temptation and asked one of the elves at his left for one anyway. It didn't take long, since nothing ever seemed to take long in the kitchens; he sat down next to Murray and said reluctantly, "It feels like cheating." Gene was sensitive to seeming dishonest, and had always thought it was more honorable to take leftovers or cold sandwiches than to take the pies that the house elves were cranking out for dinner.

His sandwich awaited, though; Gene took a few miserable and cold bites of it before he swallowed thickly and said, "So how're you? How was your summer?" As long as Murray was talking about himself, Gene wasn't, and now was a good time for Gene to not be talking about himself. And he was curious; they'd known each other for years, but he didn't really know him well. They were graduating this year; Gene was kind of kicking himself for not getting to know his peers as well as he should.

It didn't take long to finish his sandwich; it hadn't been particularly big, and Gene was hungry. He snuck one hand out to nudge the pie plate closer to him, lifted a slice onto his empty plate, and took a careful bite. It was sugary and too heavy, but not bad; he had another bite and swallowed it too fast. "It's good!" he said, a little strained.

Murray grinned at Gene when he asked one of the house elves for a sandwich, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Ay my summer was alright," he gave a bit of a shrug, dishing himself out an entire quarter of the rhubarb pie onto his plate. Murray took a large bite, chewing slowly and swallowing fully before continuing. He always felt more relaxed after eating anyway. "I didn't really do too much," he admitted honestly with a shake of his head. "Just helped my family around the farm mostly, but my dad and I made it to two Magpies games which is always a great time." Talking about his quidditch team took on a new meaning now that he was on the Hufflepuff house quidditch team. He swelled with pride thinking about the note he'd been handed by Toby Draegel that told him he made first string keeper. On his first, only, and last try, seeing as it really was the last chance he'd have to make an impact this year.

"What about you? Anything exciting?" Murray questioned, reaching across the table to snag one of the crisply folded silver napkins that he hoped the elves might forget to replace, leaving one of the Slytherin's short their napkin for dinner. Unfortunately, as he was putting the napkin up to his mouth a stealthy elf was already replacing it. "Cheers," Murray gave the house elf a wink. He dug into a few more bites of pie, thinking he could probably eat another piece before he was done, and the other half for actual dessert after supper.

Murray laughed aloud when Gene tasted the pie. "Of course it's good! It's always good!" the badger said loudly, grinning broadly at the house elves. They loved the compliments; they absolutely lived for them and Murray knew that so he used it to his advantage whenever he could. "How was the sandwich?" he asked Gene, narrowing his eyes attempting a look that shouted, I don't really care if it was awful but you should audibly profess how great it was right now. Then he winked broadly at the Gryffindor.

"How come you've never tried out for the quidditch team?" Murray blurted out his question suddenly, realizing in that instant that he'd never seen Gene on the pitch before, even just to play for fun. Realizing immediately that the badger probably sounded a bit harsh, he quickly added, "I never tried out until this year because I figured I'd make a food out of myself in front of all the ladies." It was a joke of course, Murray rarely worried about what he looked like in front of women. The funnier and more ridiculous- the better, he generally felt. But he'd always been afraid of failing when it came to quidditch. He thought the deep-seated reason may have something to do with his father being so into the sport and so good at it himself. The thought of disappointing his father was difficult to think about for Murray.

Gene literally forgot sometimes that people lived on farms and did farm things with their families. “Ah,” he said, hoping that it conveyed his ignorance on the matter (but not like, all his ignorance. Not that he’d forgotten farms existed.)

“Nothing really exciting,” said Gene. He didn’t know Murray well enough to feel comfortable gossiping about any of his classmates with him, so he settled on the other safe summertime events he could share: “Mostly palled around London. My grandmother turned 80, we had a little party. Well, we had dinner.” This was even less exciting than being on a farm and going to two Quidditch games; Gene shut up quickly. His summer had been dominated mostly by political frustration and his London friends, and he didn’t want to get into either discussion right now.

Murray asked him how his sandwich had been with a very clear suggestion of giving a positive answer. Gene, who had not even particularly wanted the sandwich once he’d gotten it and had therefore not enjoyed it at all, said bracingly “It was good. Good sandwich.” This was addressed at large to the room; Murray had asked, but it sort of seemed like he meant it for the elves’ benefit, and Gene just wasn’t sure what the etiquette of any of this was.

He was just picky about sandwiches, was all— and he’d eaten it cold while Murray was eating pie, so of course he hadn’t enjoyed it much. It was only natural.

Murray asked his next question as though he’d only just thought of it, catching both of them off guard. “Oh,” said Gene, who had never gone out for Quidditch for the simple reason of it never having occurred to him to do so. “Er… I wasn’t much good at flying. Had a good broom, but the broom doesn’t make the player, you know? And, I dunno—”

Murray had said that not looking dumb in front of girls had been a driving force in his own decision, which Gene found almost hilarious. Surely there were ways to look stupid in front of girls that Murray could do very easily on solid ground. Definitely, Gene had found plenty. Not that he’d cared as much as Murray seemed to, lately. He could spoil a potential relationship with a girl in any of four hundred other ways, and Quidditch performance didn’t even make the bottom ten of that list.

The most obvious thing he could point to as to why he wasn’t a Quidditch player was himself and his personality; he gestured at himself, lanky legs and thin arms, as though this was all the explanation that was needed. “And I’m not an athlete.”

It’d been a weird question to ask; Gene tilted his head to one side— “You tried out, this year? Did you make it on? Or— d’you know yet?”

"Grandparents birthday's are always fun," Murray chimed in, briefly reminiscing about his own grandfather who passed away a few years prior. Murray had grew up with his grandfather popping over to the house quite often, helping his dad with chores around the farm. His grandfather had officially passed the farm onto his son when Murray was only little, but the old man always loved hard work and there was never a time at the farm when there wasn't work to do in some form.

He smiled at Gene's confirmation of the good sandwich to the house elves. Good enough, he thought inwardly. Murray cleaned his plate and reached over to grab another slice of pie. He didn't need it, but it was there, and he was enjoying his break away from the noisy common room. Most of the time the badger loved the noise and attention he got whilst hanging around the Hufflepuff common room, but sometimes it was nice to wind down somewhere else and not feel like he had to be on his A game all the time. Entertaining his housemates could be exhausting, but he still wouldn't trade it for anything.

"What broom do you have?" Murray asked, now genuinely more curious about Quidditch than he'd been in the years prior. The broom he was using this year was one of his dads old brooms from the farm. It was better than the school brooms, but not by much. Murray was used to it though, and could maneuver it quite easily. He felt like he and his broomstick were a team, a corny as that sounds. Any time he tried out another broomstick there was always a learning curve. Brooms had their quirks, so it was his general comfort level on his fathers broom that kept him from considering an upgrade.

Murray actually laughed mid-bite when Gene gestured to himself and commented that he wasn't an athlete. The seventh year coughed, covering his mouth until he was able to swallow the piece of pie. A helpful house elf brought Murray over a glass of water which he immediately took a big swig out. When he was finally able to speak again he fervently thanked the elf and turned back to Gene. "I'm the furthest thing from an athlete," Murray said with a grin, grabbing the slight roll of fat on his lower abdomen with both of his hands. He wasn't fat by any means, but sneaking down to the kitchens to stuff pieces of pie into his belly between lunch and dinner is not the recipe for rock hard abs. "But you don't need to be an all-star athlete to play Quidditch. It's not like we're up there running marathons."

"Yeah I found out I made the team a few days ago," Murray began. "There's a bunch of young kids on the team too, but they seem to be decent flyers so I think our chances are pretty good this year." He thought about the third and fourth year Hufflepuff's that he'd watched at tryouts. If they performed as well at the game as they did at tryouts, and all of the players could find ways to work together as a team, they'd have a really good shot this year.

He bravely took another bite of pie, careful not to choke this time. When he had fully swallowed he decided to find out more about the Gryffindor he was sharing a snack with. "Do you have a girlfriend? Or is there anyone you're interested in?" Murray had basically no filter, and was very unashamed at discussing relationships. To him it was just any other topic of conversation.

“Some old Nimbus,” mumbled Gene, who had never paid much attention to his broom and did not care much about it. “My parents got it when I was twelve. Didn’t really use it until third year.” He was still working on his first slice of pie, using his fork to break it into neat little cube-like shapes, and a little embarrassed to admit that he had an actually good broom, ten years old or not, that he was doing nothing at all with. He ought to lend it out, he reckoned— let one of the younger students on the Gryffindor team who was still using a school broom borrow it. So long as they didn’t break it or anything.

Murray seemed to find it hilarious that Gene didn’t consider himself an athlete; as he choked on his food Gene sat awkwardly next to him, unsure whether it would be helpful to pound him on the back or not. Luckily it seemed to resolve itself quickly enough and Murray said, grinning, that he wasn’t an athlete, either.

“Yes but that’s different,” insisted Gene. “You have to do farm things, right?” He was not clear on what sorts of farm things Murray or his family did, or even what sorts of farm things anybody did, but it was definitely more exercise than Gene was doing over the summer. Especially now that Ben and Davy could drive, and he and his friends had foregone their usual walking-everywhere policy. “Most exercise I ever get is piano,” said Gene, and waggled his long fingers. This was a good segue into a bad joke but he resisted the temptation.

“Oh, congratulations,” he said sincerely. He wasn’t all that focused on house rivalry, now that he was in seventh year, but he couldn’t help adding “We’re gonna pound you lot, though, November.” He grinned quickly and used his fork to cut another little cube.

The next question came seemingly out of the absolute nether, and Gene was grateful not to have had pie in his mouth to choke on. It was something Murray was bringing up casual as anything, and Gene had forgotten that for most people (for normal people, he couldn’t help thinking) it wasn’t a big deal. He swallowed his discomfort and said, simply— “Nah. No and no. How about you?”

Some old Nimbus, Murray repeated Gene's comment a little sarcastically to himself. In general, the badger wasn't a broom connoisseur, but he knew that the Nimbus line of broomsticks carried a pretty solid reputation, no matter how old the model. He decided not to say anything further; he could tell that Gene was being modest (probably for Murray's sake), and he appreciated it. The Cowan's didn't come from a pile of money. They weren't broke by any means, but unless you farmed thousands of acres for crop or else had at least a five-hundred head quota- you were basically making ends meet with a little extra spending money.

"Have you ever been to a farm?" he asked Gene, raising a brow. "And not a plain old muggle farm, either. On our farm, my dad has retrofitted the muggle milking machines to work by magic. And all of the herding of the animals is done using broomsticks. So our version of 'farm things' might be lazier than you think," Murray finished lamely. "Wow you can play the piano?" he said, his eyes lighting up at the Gryffindor. Murray wasn't musically inclined in the slightest. His older brother Fraser was a whiz on a guitar though. Murray thought momentarily about the many times Fraser had tried and failed to teach him chords on his guitar and then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was painful thinking about his brother. It'd been ages since he's last seen or talked to him.

"You're going to need a pile of luck to beat us in the first match of the season," Murray said with a smirk, taking a bite of his pie and inwardly thanking Gene for pulling his thoughts away from Fraser. "We've been training non-stop, and even the little fourth years are flying really well." The badger was so looking forward to the first Hufflepuff v. Gryffindor match in November. Internally though, he was struggling a little bit. On one hand, the thought of crushing his friends in Gryffindor at Quidditch sounded amazing; but on the other hand... If he performed poorly... He didn't even want to think about it. Instead, he stuck his fork into his last few bites of pie and chewed slowly, savouring every mouthful. He gently set his fork down atop his plate when he had cleaned it completely.

Murray was surprised that Gene dismissed his question about girls so quickly. He obviously didn't know the lion as well as he knew Gene's dorm mates. Surely they'd be up for a bit of gossip about girls. "Oh you know, the usual," Murray began, chuckling lightly. "Gotta keep pestering them and eventually one of them will have to go out with me, right?" he offered, smiling slyly. Honestly, how long had he chased after Meredith Howell. It seemed like a decade even though he knew he was exaggerating.

"You going to have that last piece of pie?" Murray blurted out, pointing to the quarter of pie that was still left. "It'd be a shame to let it go to waste..." he eyed it with a look of longing, though his stomach was telling him he'd already ate enough.

Had Gene ever been to a farm? Until Murray had mentioned he lived on one, Gene hadn’t remembered that they existed. “No, not really,” he said. “I live in London.” Greater London, at least.

It made sense that a farm could be enhanced significantly with magic; Gene had sort of imagined it the Muggle way, with men herding sheep and the like around with dogs, or whatever happened on farms. He couldn’t say he was an expert. And that Muggles used machines to milk cows was also news to him, though it shouldn’t have been. Muggles used machines for lots of things, not just the ones that his family personally owned. “Oh,” he said lamely. “Got it.”

This was an easier topic of conversation, though, piano. “Yeah, I can play,” he said, grinning. “Not bad, either, but I can’t practice all that often at school. Sometimes Flitwick’ll let me use the choir room though.”

He grinned again, as Murray jumped to defend his Quidditch team; “Training nonstop isn’t gonna save you from the fact that half your team’s never played a school game before,” he pointed out, and grinned. Quidditch was probably the sort of thing that seemed more entertaining and hilarious from the stands than it did from the actual pitch, though, so he relented some— “Good luck to you all, though. Leave ours some time on the pitch to practice too.”

He wasn’t done yet with his slice of pie, even as Murray was polishing off his second; Gene felt a little self-conscious for his sluggishness and hoped that neither the house elves nor Murray would take it as a sign that Gene didn’t like the pie. (He did like the pie. It was too sweet and too heavy, but he liked it enough.) “I don’t know that wearing them down ‘til they date you out of annoyance is a strategy that’ll serve you too well, mate,” he said. Privately he also thought that flirting with multiple girls at all times wasn’t likely to help Murray’s case, either, but he didn’t know how to phrase that. Luckily Murray was already changing the subject.

“Oh,” he said. “No— go ahead, take it.” He pushed the empty pie tin over to the other boy, finished up his slice. He felt like, even though he wasn’t eating anymore, he was obligated to stay at least until Murray finished, so he racked his brains for something else to talk about that wasn’t their summers and wasn’t the magical British political environment, settling on “So,,, what do you think of Becker?”

Murray always wondered what it would be like to live in a big, bustling city like London with all of the lights and people and fast-paced everything. He wasn't sure he'd fit in. Murray did well in groups of people, sure, but it was because he knew most of them and felt comfortable enough around them just to be himself. Going home to the farm for the holidays was his break from the high strung environment he considered Hogwarts to be. And sometimes he needed a break, just like today he needed to come down to the kitchens for a piece of pie. "Do you like the city life?" he questioned, unable to curb his curiosity. "Aren't there people everywhere? And lots of muggle cars moving about?" Murray would hate it. The unfamiliarity of it all was enough to keep him in North-Eastern Scotland.

The badger laughed aloud at Gene's mention that most of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team were newbies. "You're not wrong," he admitted with a grin to match the Gryffindors, until then not wanting to believe it. It felt like Murray had seen the Gryffindors on the pitch more often than his own team, though he knew it wasn't true the moment it crossed his mind. Admittedly, the badgers had quite a bit of extra practice time on the pitch than the other house teams, but it was because they needed the extra training time to properly teach at least half of the team all of the correct rules and new techniques. Even Murray needed brushing up on the rules of the game every once in awhile. There was a massive difference between watching it from the stands and actually being in the air on a broomstick.

His face broke into a wide smile. "At least I sometimes still manage to snag a date?" he said with a laugh, knowing there was some truth to Gene's comment. Murray's persistence rarely waned, especially when it came to girls. Lately he'd dropped a lot of his usual tactics and focused on one individual in particular. He wondered if maybe Meredith would feel the same way Gene did, and at that moment he promised himself he wouldn't go out of his way to openly flirt with other girls. Then again, did Murray even have the slightest chance with the Head Girl? He doubted it. They would hopefully enjoy their year at Hogwarts together, but he couldn't see a future with Meredith past graduation. They were just too different. A girl stemming from a wealthy, respectable, Pureblood family dating a farmer? Murray wouldn't normally put himself down, especially not for being a farmer. He was proud of his heritage and his hard working family. It just meant that he'd never have a chance with someone like Meredith.

"I was impressed with his first lesson," Murray said in response to Gene's question about their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, giving a slight shrug. Classes definitely weren't the badgers strong suit, but thus far in the term Profesor Becker seemed to be leading the students in the right direction, for which he was thankful. He remembered back on their first class- shield charms. In general, Murray was quite good at wand work subjects in comparison to the more theoretical subjects they took at Hogwarts. It took him hardly any time to pick up on the shield charm in class. Perhaps it was helped along by Becker's teaching style, who knows. Murray didn't hold much stock in the teachers abilities. To him, they were just bodies required at the front of the classrooms to explain what the class was doing that day and mark homework. He never went out of his way to have interactions with professors other than in class settings. "What do you think?" he offered back to Gene.

Murray debated taking the last piece of pie, but for once decided that he was full up enough. He waved one of the house elves over. "Do you think you could make sure this last piece is at the far end of the Hufflepuff table tonight after supper, and I promise I'll finish off the last of it?" he winked. "The pie was delicious, but I want to save room for supper tonight," he added so as not to insult the elves.

He let himself stretch out on the bench seat, extending his arms out to both sides and stifling a yawn. "Maybe we should try to get a nap in before dinner?" Murray suggested to Gene as he reeled his arms back in from his stretched. "All that food in my belly is putting me to sleep."

Did Gene like the city life? “Never lived anywhere else,” he offered. “But yeah, I do. I guess it’s kind of noisy, but I don’t mind. You get used to it— you know, half the time it feels weird and quiet, out here at Hogwarts. ‘Specially at night. I guess if you aren’t around ‘em cars would be weird but I kind of like them. There’s something about cars that you don’t get with brooms, or Portkeys, or the like.”

Gene’s dad had a car, but Gene walked or took Floo way more than he had his dad drive him anywhere; this summer, now that some of his London friends were old enough to drive, he’d spent even less time in his dad’s car. (Ben had a hideous, very old Volkswagen that they all called the Benmobile that smelled like feet no matter how many little trees Ben put on the mirror; it was great fun.)

He didn’t have much interest for talk of Quidditch, so was grateful to seize instead on the topic of girls, even though a part of him felt vaguely guilty whenever he talked about them. “I mean, I don’t have any expertise in this,” he admitted, and raised his hands a little; “If it works, I guess whatever. Just think if I was a girl, I wouldn’t date someone who flirted with a lot of girls.” This conversation was getting dangerously unpalatable, though; he shut up on the if-he-were-a-girl hypothetical (why had he brought it up in the first place, anyway? That’d been dumb, the proper way to phrase that had been that he, not a girl, wouldn’t want to date a girl who got around.)

At least Murray’s mind seemed to be somewhere else; Gene wondered mildly if Murray had a crush. They’d never talked about stuff like that, in his memory; now didn’t seem like the appropriate time to start.

“I dunno, yet,” said Gene. This was an even worse topic for girls; Gene’s opinions thus far of Becker were that he was young, good-looking, and a fun teacher, which Gene had shared with nobody and intended to carry on sharing with nobody. “I liked the first lesson too, I guess—” and, as a memory of the lesson resurfaced, Gene grinned and leaned away from Murray— “and I knew the shields were invisible, too, I just wanted to bitch. Never was too good at them. I’m better in theoretical classes usually.”

It was a little awkward every time Murray switched to talking to the elves, but Gene thought that being annoyed by it was probably offensive, so he just sat and fidgeted. “Well, you can take a nap,” he said. If it’d been Sebastian asking he’d have taken the question as a rude one, but he suspected Murray was just clueless about how Gene’s mind worked and very heterosexual. “I’m gonna try and get some work done, I think. NEWTs.”

It seemed like a good spot to cut off conversation anyway; he stood up and adjusted his trousers. “Uh, I’ll see you Monday.”

He chuckled slightly when Gene mentioned it being quiet here at Hogwarts. Murray's thoughts then morphed into what it would be like to drive in a car, or even to drive a car himself. He saw them all the time going up and down the country lanes near the farm, but had never thought any more about it. "Are there all different types of cars?" the badger questioned. "Some that drive really, really fast?" It would be so exciting to go that fast on land. Now that Murray was spending much more time up in the air on his broomstick, the thought of speeding along on a muggle motorway sounded almost as exciting. "I think a car without a roof would be the most fun."

All Murray did was shrug his shoulders at the comment of him flirting with a lot of girls and potentially being undesirable because of it. He'd already crossed that bridge a long time ago, and decided that innocent flirting didn't hurt anyone. Murray wasn't out to date three or four women at once or something crazy like that. It was the smile that lit up her face when he commented on her beautiful hair that he loved to see more than anything. And what was wrong with innocent compliments towards pretty girls?

He actually laughed aloud. "Your shield looked good from where I was standing," Murray pointed out to Gene. "I was just pulling your leg," he decided to add, wondering if Gene had taken Murray seriously during their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Seventy-five percent of the time the badger was joking, and though he expected other people to know that by now, he sometimes forgot that not everyone did know that.

Gene's reminder about NEWTs sent Murray's head into a spin about the charms homework that lay forgotten up in his dormitory. There were still three days left to finish the assignment, he reminded himself inwardly. Murray stood up a second after Gene did and double checked that the quill was still safely in his back pocket. He surprised even himself that he remembered it. The badger pulled it out and waved it at Gene with a grin. "I'd better return this to the girl that loaned it to me."

Murray thanked the house elves once more as he and Gene walked towards the exit door that would lead them back into the basement corridor. "Don't work too hard!" he called back to Gene when they parted ways, Murray turning right to head down to the end of the corridor to where the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room was located.

Gene had never even thought about how foreign a car must seem to someone who’d never been in one. “Yeah, lots,” he said, waving one hand vaguely as though that would illustrate. “Yeah, they have fast ones— they’ve got the sort you can race, all professionally, and the sort you just buy if you want to feel better than other people. And loads of other kinds, too. They’ve got cars you can live in.”

He was clearly not convincing Murray, but he felt weird enough talking about girls that he let it go. Murray had to have other friends for this kind of conversation, right? Surely Gene Horowitz, fidgety virgin, was not the person for this anyway. He scratched at the back of his head and moved on. “Shield charms are invisible, mate. And it was terrible— I’m not good at them. Henry was hitting me more often than not.”

After a sandwich and a slice of pie, Gene was starting to feel sort of sluggish; he stared blankly as Murray waved his quill midair and mentioned returning it to somebody. “Uh huh,” he said. Maybe a nap wasn’t such a bad idea— but it was probably too late in the afternoon for that. Maybe it was better that he revert to his original plan and reread a chunk of the Lord of the Rings. Right now, that was just as likely to put him to sleep anyway. Murray thanked the house elves one final time, as Gene uncomfortably stood silently and wondered whether it looked lame to immediately piggyback on Murray’s politeness, and then they headed back out into the corridor.

“You either,” he said, in response to the farewell; it was an unnecessary one, since Gene couldn’t remember working too hard in his life, but he supposed Murray meant well. He’d be pretty wiped out once he got back to his dorm, maybe too wiped out for reading, or for the homework he’d just told Murray he was planning to do that he, in fact, was putting off ‘til the night before it was due. It was a Sunday afternoon, after all. Lethargy seemed like it was taking over for the evening, and Gene was happy to allow it.